To Breathe Again
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "It's been a month. A month of grueling training, of learning the rules and regulations and pushing herself to the limits. A month of proving herself and then coming home to…this. To nothing." Season 6 AU.


_**to breathe again**_

* * *

She's shaking, weak, when she sticks the key in the lock, turns it and pushes the door open. She steps into the apartment, small and empty and dark, closing the door behind her with her weight.

Her back presses against the wood, her head falling against the door with a thud, her eyes falling closed against the emptiness, the bitter chill of loneliness.

It's been a month. A month of grueling training, of learning the rules and regulations and pushing herself to the limits. A month of proving herself and then coming home to…this.

To nothing.

Her eyes slide open, the darkness she finds, unwelcomed, almost painful. Her teeth catch her lip, trapping a sigh in her chest, as she pushes herself off the door, deeper into this home that has never really felt like home at all.

That will never feel like home.

She heads to the bathroom, flicking the light on as she passes. The room turns bright against the dim lighting of the living room, despite the gloom swirling in the sky outside the building.

She flips the switch again, letting the room return to black, because somehow she can tolerate it more than the light.

Walking on quivering legs, she steps deeper into the room, finds herself standing in front of the sink, in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her. Her eyes, wide with fatigue, dark with anguish.

Letting out a breath, she lets her gaze fall, her hands rising to undo the buttons of her shirt, popping each plastic disk from its hole until the fabric falls open.

Even in the darkness, she can see the gleam of metal against her chest.

Her finger hooks through the ring, draws it upwards so it's hovering at eye level. The gem is familiar, She knows it well, has spent too many night staring at it, searching for comfort from it.

But now it just reminds her of his ring. The one he offered her, down on one knee. The one that she turned down and walked away from.

It had been beautiful. He had been wonderful.

And sometimes she can't believe she gave it all up for _this._ For nothing.

Her stomach lurches, churns, and she blinks back the tears, dropping the ring so it settles back against her sternum.

And she goes to bed, her mind screaming at her that all she's getting ready for is one more day without him.

One more day of nothing,

* * *

"Beckett?"

She blinks, tilting her head back as her vision slides back into focus, two images of McCord merging into one and her stomach drops, her fingers clenching tighter around the edge of the garbage can.

She did _not_ just throw up in the middle of her training.

But she did.

"Are you okay?" asks McCord, her brow creasing in doubt. "Agent Beckett, can you handle blood, because this seemed to be your reaction to the crime scene photograph?"

Her stomach lurches again, as the image flashes back into her mind. A vehicle stained with blood, the body slumped over in the driver's seat. So much blood.

She swallows back the bile that threatens to rise in her throat, and forces herself to sit up straighter, even as the world tilts on its axis. Her hand presses against her stomach, and her eyes fall closed for a second as she sucks in a deep breath and releases it just as slowly.

"I'm fine," she mumbles. "I've been a homicide detective for _years_ , Agent McCord. I can handle blood."

McCord smile, but the doubt doesn't fade from her features. "You sure?" she asks. "Because your reaction indicates otherwise."

"I'm sure." she answers, her eyes sliding open again. Her hand presses harder against her stomach when she sees the image, still projected on the screen. The bloody car. She swallows again. "I haven't been feeling the best lately. I'm sure it's just a stomach bug."

It has to be.

McCord smiles down at her. "Good," she says. "But this job doesn't wait for a stomach bug. You good to continue with the lesson?"

Her answering nod is half-hearted and weak.

So is the voice in her head telling her it _is_ just a stomach bug.

* * *

It doesn't really hit her until later that day, when news of the incident has circled the building. The most promising trainee, vomiting at the sight of blood.

She walks through the halls with her head down, breathing through her mouth to avoid the onslaught of scents that fills the office, to fight to keep the nausea at bay.

Because throwing up at work once today was enough.

But everyone has already heard, and there's no ignoring the laughter and whispers that follow her down the halls as she tries to escape to her car, to try and go home.

A hand catches her arm, and she looks up to see another agent she doesn't recognize staring back at her, a friendly smile on her face.

"Agent Beckett?" she whispers.

She nods her response, forcing a weak smile to curl at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm Agent Cannon," says the other woman. "I heard about what happened earlier."

"Oh." It's all she can manage.

But Agent Cannon doesn't laugh at her. She just keeps smiling. "I don't think you have an aversion to blood. At least, not just that. If you did, your job as a homicide detective would have been impossible," she says softly. "But I do know that I was a detective for years, and an agent for a few more, and I still couldn't handle the sight of blood when I was pregnant with my daughter."

 _Pregnant._

Her lips part around a response, but no words come out. There's nothing to say.

"It's just something for you to think about, consider as a possibility, if it is one," says Agent Cannon, before letting her go and continuing her walk down the hall.

And she's left standing there alone.

She tears her hand from her stomach, and her steps towards the exit are quicker now. More desperate.

 _If it is a possibility._

Of course it is one.

* * *

She's fumbling with the buttons of her shirt the minute she walks through the door, tearing them from their holes, forcing the sides of fabric apart.

She practically rips the chain from around her neck, dropping it onto the edge of the sink, because she can't deal with the ring. With the images. With the life she left behind.

The life that might be coming back to haunt her now.

Because the numbers make sense. So do the symptoms. But her brain is still undecided, her heart racing with the possibility, with every thought that races through her mind.

She left this life behind. Her job. Her family. _Him._

And now she could be pregnant with his baby.

What a mess she's made.

She reaches up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before ripping the last button of her shirt apart, ignoring the scitter of the plastic across the floor as her eyes lock on her reflection.

She's pale, sickly looking. But she has been for a while now. Without homecooked meals and a family to go home to, without a reason to wake up every morning. If he saw her, Castle would probably force feed her.

But she has no appetite. Just nausea.

Her teeth catch the inside her of lip as her vision blurs with another onslaught of tears. Her hand is shaking when she reaches up to brush against her cheek, her eyes falling closed to let the tears free. They roll down her cheeks, down the column of her nose to slip under her jaw or into her mouth.

Even that, the salty flavor hitting her tongue, has her smiling against the lurch of her stomach.

All because of a baby she's not even sure exists.

She tears her eyes open again, but her gaze doesn't land on her face this time. It lands on her stomach. Travels past her stomach, to where the bottom of her belly is just barely visible in the mirror.

Her hand trails across her skin, the touch of her fingertips like as a feather before her palm flattens against the flat span of her abs. The heel of her hand presses against the jut of her hipbone, and her eyes fall closed once more.

She can still see it, the future they talked about. The future they planned. The future they counted on. It included rings and promises and _kids._

She dreams of it at night, only to wake up in tears because she gave it all away.

Except for now…she might now have.

She might still be carrying his baby. It's not a guarantee, but it's a maybe. And she clings to that hope as she leaves the bathroom, her necklace and ring still hanging on the edge of the sink.

Her bed is cold and empty, just like the apartment, but she burrows under the covers and draws her phone up to her ear.

And she books the flight.

Her hand is still on her stomach.

* * *

Her flight isn't until the evening, so she shows up at work the next day as though nothing is wrong.

But everything is wrong. Or maybe it's right. Either way, she doesn't show up in training, or follow the text message giving her directions to her next assignment.

She finds herself knocking on McCord's office door, and watching as the other agent looks up from her paperwork.

"Beckett," she greets. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs. "I'm fine," she lies. As though she didn't spend this morning avoiding food and fighting back the nausea that's been fighting against her.

She can't deal with it now. Today is too important.

"Okay," says McCord. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She swallows thickly, and her hand curls into a fist at her side to resist the urge to press it against her stomach. Against the baby that may not even be there.

It's a big leap for something that is merely a possibility.

But it's also a leap for something she left behind. For something she wants back.

So she sucks in a breath, forces a smile. "I would like to discuss my resignation," she says.

Now, there's no going back.

* * *

She's like an anxious teenager having her first pregnancy scare when she makes her way through the pharmacy, coursing through every aisle as though that will hide why she's truly here. She lifts bandages off the shelf and throws them into her basket, even though she has no use for them.

All she has is an empty apartment, a ruined relationship and the possibility of a baby.

She didn't even bring a suitcase.

Her hands are shaking when she reaches the women's health section. Her eyes scan the shelves, rows and rows of pregnancy tests and ovulation tests, medications for infections and vitamins. Prenatal vitamins.

She's unsteady and weak when she reaches for a box containing a pair of digital pregnancy tests. Her fingers are quivering, and the box tumbles to the floor, clatters there only to still at her feet.

Her knees quivering, she bends down to retrieve it. Her hands are still shaking, visibly so, and she presses the basket against the floor, shoves the box of pregnancy tests into it before forcing herself to stand.

The word tilts. Her stomach clenches. And she reaches out to press her hand against the shelf in front of her, a feeble attempt to steady herself.

To steady her life.

And then she forces herself to stand up straight again, and continues walking down the aisle. She grabs a box of prenatal vitamins as she walks by.

The cashier offers her a knowing smile when she dumps the contents of her basket onto the counter. Her attempts at subtlety are gone. Her secret out in the open for more than her to know.

She pays quickly, and fumbles with the straps to the plastic bag the cashier hands her before turning and leaving the building.

Leaving to who knows where.

Night has already fallen upon the city, the sidewalks less crowded than usual, and yet, for some reason, she wishes for the traffic. For the anonymity that her city usually offers.

She pulls the hood of her giant NYPD sweater over her head, and tugs the sleeves down to cover her arms.

But she's too late. Fading into the crowd is pointless, because her name follows her down the sidewalk, loud and laced with unspoken questions.

"Kate?"

And she knows that voice. Knows who it is.

Unable to walk away, she sinks against the nearest wall, and wishes for the word to stop spinning.

* * *

He says she looks sick, and she feels it, too, so he piles her into a cab and takes the seat next to her.

His large hand is splayed across her lower back, warm and comforting as though nothing has changed. And because of that, she lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

He squeezes her side, and it's soothing in its familiarity.

"Why are you here?" he asks softly, the words lost in her hair, a secret from the driver. His hand drifts up her side, to the end up her ribcage, and down to her hip again. "In New York, I mean."

"I came to see you," she murmurs.

"Oh?" he breathes. "Really?"

Insecurity rings in his voice, in every word, and she snakes her hand across his thigh, squeezes his knee gently. "Yeah," she mumbles. "There's something we need to talk about."

"There is?"

She nods, and forces her head off his shoulder just as the cab lurches to a stop. Her hand flies to her mouth, her stomach clenching, and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to breathe through it.

She just needs to get through the cab ride.

But she might not.

Because it takes her until his gasp echoes through the cabin to realize that she dropped the bag. And, trying not to move, she forces her gaze down, to see that the pregnancy test has fallen out.

And he's staring right at it.

"There is," he says, hesitant hope lilting his tone.

She squeezes her eyes shut, tears already burning behind them, when his hand comes up to rest on her back. Soft. Comforting. He trails it up her spine, and squeezes her shoulder gently.

"Nauseous?" he asks.

She whimpers.

She left him. And then she shows up in his city, in his home, looking for him with an over-rehearsed apology and a pregnancy test she hasn't even taken yet. And he's here for her, looking out for her.

As always.

She nods slowly, wincing as she does.

"Can you handle a few more minutes?"

She nods again. "I think so."

He squeezes her shoulder. "Okay," he breathes. "And we'll talk about this when we get home, okay?"

All she can do is nod…again.

* * *

The nausea subsides by the time they get to the loft. It's empty. It feels almost as cold as her apartment in DC does. Just a little warmer, because he's here.

He leads her to the couch, his arm banded around her shoulders, and makes sure she's comfortable before taking the seat next to her. His hand lands on her knee. He's still holding the box of pregnancy tests and the bag from the pharmacy in his hand until he sets it down in the little bit of space between them.

"So," he breathes, pauses. "You're…pregnant?"

She shrugs, her eyes locked on his. "Maybe," she answers. "I don't know. I haven't taken the test yet."

"Oh."

She reaches down, and catches his hand in hers and squeezes his fingers weakly. His eyes are still locked on her, hope fading to resignation, like he thinks that's the only reason she's here. The only reason she came back.

It's not.

"I missed you," she whispers. "So much, Rick. You know, some days, I would walk into my apartment and call out for you and you weren't there and I would just…break down."

He squeezes her hand in return. "Then why did you leave?" he asks. "Or, why did you break up with me?"

She sucks in a breath, and reaches up with her free hand to fumble with the chain around her neck, to tug the ring from beneath the thick layer of her sweater. It lands on the gray fabric, and his gaze zeroes in one it, recognition flashing in the blue of his eyes.

"I wanted to make a difference," she answers, "a bigger one than I made working for the NYPD. But I had to leave to do it, Castle."

"I know," he breathes. "But I would have done the long distance thing, Kate. Hell, I would have moved with you."

"I know," she responds. "That's the problem, Rick. I was being selfish. I wanted you to. I wanted to make a difference and I wanted you, too, but it would have been so unfair of me to ask for you to wait for me again, or to uproot your life and move away from your family, or to do the long distance thing. I didn't want to…be a burden. You've done _so_ much for me, and I couldn't, Castle. I couldn't ask for more."

"But Kate, I would have given it to you. Anything. I would have given you anything, over this."

Yeah. She knows that, too.

She lets go of his hand, and shifts so she's kneeling on the couch, facing him, before reaching up to frame his face in her palms, to brush her thumbs across the ridges of his cheekbones.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to say yes, when you asked me to marry you," she tells him. "I showed up at that park expecting you to break up with me, and instead, you proposed. But I'd already accepted the job, and I couldn't…"

"I know," he breathes.

Because she already explained what she couldn't do.

She leans forward, and presses her forehead against his, fighting the tears that well in her eyes. "I thought about it. I dreamed of it, of the future we could have had," she whispers. "Not just about being engaged, but about what our wedding would have been like, about our…family."

His gaze drops. Hers does, too. To the box of pregnancy tests, wedged between her knees and his thigh.

"You should take the test," he says, the words soft as he reaches over to squeeze her leg.

She's not sure if her heart drops or lifts, but a lump forms in her throat, forcing her to answer with a nod, her hand falling to reach for the box.

Her hands are shaking again, her knees quivering, when she lets him stand and lead her to the bathroom.

* * *

She jumps when his arms snake around her waist, his palms splaying across her stomach, and his chuckle is warm against the shell of her ear.

"How much longer?" he breathes.

"A minute."

He nods, his chin pressing hard against her shoulder, his arms tightening around her. It's stiff, resentment from her betrayal, her leaving still present in his embrace, and yet it's oddly comforting.

He's making an effort.

"If it's positive," she whispers. "You don't have to…I don't want you to take me back just because we're having a baby. We could do this–"

"Kate," he interrupts, and her mouth slams shut, words she never wanted to say staying caught in her throat. "Whether or not that test is positive, I still want you, I still love you."

"But I hurt you."

He nods. "You did." And then his hands fall, landing on her hips. He turns her in his embrace, and her arms wrap around his middle, her watery eyes meeting his. "You did hurt me, Kate. But we've hurt each other before and we've survived. It's made us stronger in the past, it will do it again." He leans down, and presses a kiss to her forehead, so soft it has her eyes falling closed, has her melting against him. "That future you dream of? It's yours, if you want it."

Her hands curl into fists at his back, tugging on the fabric of his shirt. "Why?" she mumbles. "Why do you…give me anything I want, even when I hurt you?"

He smiles, his lips still pressed against her skin. "Because I love you."

"Yeah," she breathes, "but I love you, too, and all I seem to do is take from you. You give me everything, babe, and I just…I just take."

"Hey," he says, and her eyes snap open when he pulls away. "You give me things, too. So many things I can't even put into words. Okay?"

She nods. It's all she can do.

And then a small smile spreads across his face, and he leans over to glance over her shoulder. At the test still sitting on the counter. She swallows, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

Of excitement or disappointment, she doesn't know.

"And, it looks like you're giving us a baby."

Her eyes go wide, and she turns in his arms, her gaze landing on the plastic stick. On the plus sign staring back at her.

A smile breaks across her face, through the shell of pain, as he turns her in his arms again, crushing her against him.

For just a second, she catches her reflection in the mirror, and a watery laugh bubbles up from her chest.

She's going to be a mom. They're going to be a family.

* * *

Nausea won't take her down.

She pushes herself off the floor and onto her feet, her hands reaching to clench around the vanity counter. Her reflection stares back at her, and she wipes quickly at the corner of her mouth.

She looks exhausted. They stayed up late. And morning sickness woke her up early. But she looks happy.

She hasn't looked happy in a long time.

A smile curling at the corner of her mouth, even as her stomach clenches around nothing, she reaches for her toothbrush and makes quick work of brushing her teeth.

It's weird. Not having anywhere to be. Anywhere to go.

But she gets ready like she normally would. Not for work, but for a day at home, with him. Her fingers comb through her hair, pulling out her ponytail only to pull it back again. She washes her hands, leaves her face bare of makeup, and reaches for the chain she left on the counter last night, before he swept her off to bed.

But it's different now.

Around the chain hangs her mother's ring, the one that's driven her.

And his ring. The one that's haunted her.

And the breath escapes her, stuttering as tears flood her eyes as he steps into the bathroom, as if on cue.

"You found it?" he whispers, reaching out for her hip, his hand snaking beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"The ring?" she asks. "Yeah."

He steps closer to her now, pressing his chest against her back, his hand snaking upwards to land on her stomach. "It's yours, if you want it," he says. "Our future, I still want it. And if you do, too, it's yours."

She nods. "I do," she says. "I do want it. I just…I feel like it's too soon, after everything that happened."

"Okay," he breathes. "Then wear it around your neck, with your mother's ring. It'll be a promise. And one day, when we're ready, I'll put it on your finger, where it belongs,"

It's the perfect solution, has butterflies flooding her stomach and her heart skipping a beat.

"Okay," she agrees,

He reaches forward, carefully takes the chain from her hand and swipes her hair over her shoulder. He presses a kiss to her nape before doing up the clasp.

The ring settles against her sternum, and she smiles, because it's right where it belongs.

* * *

Weeks pass and they're back on track.

Martha finds out fairly quickly, not that she and Castle are trying to hide it. But his hand is on her stomach and he's asking her about morning sickness when his mother walks in, a knowing smile on her face. And next thing she knows she's swept into a hug, Martha's arms wrapped around her, and being welcomed home like she didn't hurt them all.

It's shortly after that that he asks her to move in with him. And she's powerless to disagree.

So, he helps her move her things back from DC, and she can't hide the smile on her face when she closes the door to the cold, empty apartment that was never home. It's mirrored on his face, and he reaches for her, wraps his arm around her waist and leads her to the elevator, the last bag of things slung over his shoulder.

They fill Alexis in over the phone, and though she's apprehensive at first, they end the call with her accepting the situation, their family, and the baby that will be her little brother or sister.

And her dad can't even try to hide his smile when they tell him. He hugs her goodbye after lunch, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, and tells her that her mother would be proud.

Castle finds her sitting in their bed that night, fidgeting with the rings, and promises that her mother doesn't care that she's not working for the Attorney General. That her mother only cares that she's happy.

And she is.

So she slides under the covers and rests her head on his chest, lets herself drift off to sleep in the warmth of his embrace.

* * *

The doctor pauses the image on the screen, and offers them both a smile.

"There's your baby," she says. "And he or she looks perfectly healthy."

Castle smiles, and peppers kisses to the side of her head, his grip on her hand tightening. She lets her head fall against his chest, tears flooding her eyes, and he presses his lips to the top of her head once more.

"That's our baby, Kate," he whispers, for only her to hear.

The doctor keeps smiling at them, and pushes herself up from her seat. "I'll get you some prints of the ultrasound," she offer, before getting up to leave.

It leaves her and Castle sitting alone, staring at the grainy grey image on the screen, and she turns to bury her face in his chest.

"I can't see it," she mumbles.

"Huh?" he breathes. "What can't you see?"

She turns her head against her chest, looking back at the screen in front of her. It's lit up with the same image, grainy and grey and _her baby_ that she can't see.

"The baby," she whispers.

"Oh," he says. "Here. I'll show you."

He shifts slightly, drawing away so he can lean closer to the screen, and he points to an oval of grey, tiny and surrounded by black.

"Right there, Kate," he whispers. "That's our baby."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans up, too, so she's sitting next to him. She squeezes his hand, her head pressing against his shoulder. He turns towards her, presses another kiss to her head.

"Do you see it?" he asks.

She nods, reaching out to brush her fingers across the screen, as he reaches down and presses his palm against the barely there swell of her stomach.

"That's our baby," she breathes.

That's what brought her back to him. That's what brought her home.

* * *

He finds her in the bathroom that evening, and she glances up to the mirror to see him smiling at her, his eyes sparkling, even in his reflection.

"You're staring again," she mumbles.

He chuckles, stepping deeper into the room. "So are you," he counters, with a jerk of his head.

Her cheeks turn pink, and she glances back down at the counter. At the picture sitting on it, the print of that grainy grey image, the picture of her baby that's had her mesmerized since she first saw it. The memory of the racing heartbeat still plays in her mind.

"No laughing at me," she whispers. "You were staring at it earlier, too."

"I was," he admits. "But you've been staring at it non-stop since we got home." He steps deeper into the room, so he can reach out at touch her, his hands splaying across her ribs, trailing down her stomach. "I love it, you know," he promises. "You are already a very loving…mommy."

She smiles, even as her blush washes across her chest, reaches the tips of her ears. "Am I that bad?" she asks.

He presses a kiss to the side of her head. "You're adora–"

And he stops, leaning over her shoulder, staring at something. Her gaze follows his, down to the image sitting on the counter, but the quip about him being mesmerized, too, dies on the tip of her tongue.

Because he's not staring at the picture.

He's staring at–

"The ring?"

She nods, her hand snaking down to catch his, to squeeze his fingers gently. "Yeah," she breathes. "I'm, uh, I think we're…ready."

" _Oh._ "

She nods again, dumbly as he reaches forward, past her. His fingers wrap around the ring, closing the beautiful band of platinum and the diamond in his palm before opening it again, holding it in front of her just like he did the day she left him.

But now she's back, and his words are warm against her ear.

"Kate," he whispers. "Will you marry me?"

She already promised him her life, her future, her family. On nights when he pressed kisses to her belly and spoke of the family they're going to have, described how beautiful she'll look in a white dress.

But she promises it to him again, turning in his arms to press a hard kiss to his lips before her answer washes across his face, before he breathes it in.

" _Yes._ "

He slides the ring onto her finger, onto its home where it belongs, before kissing her again, and reminding her that she's home, too.

Where she's never lonely, never cold, because of him and the love they share.

Home. Where there's _everything._

* * *

 **"I'm coming home  
to breathe again,  
to start again."  
-Calls Me Home, Shannon LaBrie  
**

* * *

 _Happy Castle Fanfic Monday! Also, a huge thank you goes to Lindsey for beta'ing this for me._ **  
**


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